Picture a skinny girl with boobs the size of fried eggs in this lovely lingerie. Then add a curly, frizzy crazy old-lady perm. Add a few sheer out-of-style dresses Grandma hand-picked for me at Goodwill. Don’t forget the pimply back and cotton slip showcased so beautifully by those hideous dresses. There you have the nightmare of style I sported in the sixties, when vintage was definitely not cool. Mother was so proud to see me decked out the styles she’d coveted in the fifties. Me, not so much. I do believe I wore the very dress pictured below left to a social event in the seventh grade, only mine was pale lavender, ensuring a perfect view of my time-worn cotton slip (likely with a pinned strap) and pimply back. Though this nightmare was tea-length, Mother was adamant I couldn’t hem it and ruin all that gorgeous embroidery at the hem. I disguised it by wearing a sweater, fully-buttoned, put a belt on, and pulled it up to the proper length. I still looked deranged, but felt I had to make an effort. Total fashion failure followed when the yards of fabric cascaded out of the belt, plummeting to tea-length. At least it built character! Ha!
I endured the second monstrosity in a watered down shade of pale celery.
Mother was lucky enough find a bevy of these gorgeous bras at the cheapest store around, the one that featured low-end irregulars from fire-sales. I think she bragged about getting two for a dollar The only way she could have found any cheaper or uglier would have been a raid on a psychiatric center for geriatric hoarders. A lovely extra was that even the smallest pointed cup size vastly exceeded the demands of my mosquito-bite-sized breasts. I took care not to bump into things after caving one in. God only knows how many tissues or socks it would have taken to stuff them. My bosoms sat perkily below those pointy peaks, totally unaware an unfulfilled brassiere towered far above them.